


if i loved you

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Musicals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25022659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Kirk & Grayson, told out of order.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	if i loved you

**Author's Note:**

> This is some strange thing coming from me listening to too many musical soundtracks. Not accurate at all, most likely. Title, is of course from Carousel by Rodgers & Hammerstein. There's some inspiration taken from Whiplash. The narrative is sorta... weird, to be honest, and kinda confusing, but thanks for giving this a chance.

Before the end, this happens:

Jim Kirk walks in, anywhere, and the room explodes. Except this one. 

He’s just shrugging off of his jacket and backpack when he spots Nyota Uhura against the piano, which is gleaming against the morning sunshine. She cocks an eyebrow and he grins, striding forward.

The studio’s quiet, so her way to him is marked by the echoed claps of her heel against the floor. Jim looks her up and down and says, “Guess that bucket list script _really_ did get approved. Can I borrow your fairy godmother? I'm being hounded by the _Next to Normal_ movie people.”

Her eyebrows both raise this time. “And that’s a bad thing? Jim Kirk, you bastard.”

Jim opens his arms in apology, but he’s still grinning like an idiot. “Well, Finnegan’s orchestrating so - you know. Shitty music and a shitty personality. Anyway, I’ve got better things to do.”

“I’m really happy you agreed,” she says, sincere and quiet, missing her classic smooth snarkiness that Jim is practically fluent in. “I wasn’t sure if they were going to let me include songs in the film, you know. The music’s - well, I know the score's going to be gorgeous, so no worries."

He kisses her cheek, slips past her, and plops on the piano bench, eyes skating over bright white and dark ebony keys. “Music’s gorgeous? I know exactly three composers who’ve managed to crack your shell and I think two of them are assholes.”

Well - it’s actually four people and three assholes. But _he_ hasn’t occupied space in Jim’s head for years. Never mind that _he_ somehow wrote a musical score to _2001: A Space Odyssey_ and it hadn't been a complete trip. _He_ made it a point to work with Gary Mitchell. Gary Mitchell, who had been Jim's roommate at Berklee for two years, attempted to write for shitty sitcoms and then resurfaced to write lyrics with _him._

Everyone kept congratulating _him_ on a musical that should've fucking failed and an award that never should've happened. Jim had ducked in the bathroom, resisting the urge to bang his head against the stall until he mercifully died. 

But of course -

There’s a walk into the room. Slow and measured, it’s careful, like the first steps of a ballad, or the last notes of a finale. Jim hears Nyota say something about being late or early or whatever the hell but he looks up and there’s -

Spock Grayson is staring at Nyota, but he’s really looking at Jim and his knuckles are whiter than snow on his satchel. His mouth is in a line and there’s a folder with something peeking out clenched in his other hand. He’s looking at Jim and Jim looks back, unable to look away, like they were frozen in time, to the ground. Like reality had bent around them to give them this moment. Jim used to believe - not in true love or whatever the shit, but in fate. Fate’s fucked him over whenever it was convenient, so Jim’s given up on fate and karma and everything. Bones told him that was a good thing. 

But this -

“Jim,” Nyota says, voice straight and unbroken, a line. This was not a surprise. She’s brought up Spock in snippets over the years, and Jim _knows_ she’d stayed friends with him. They were friends first, after all. This was not a mistake, and irrationally for a second, Jim is so angry at her that he wants to storm out and never come back. 

And then Spock says, “This is a complication,” and everything, everything else, fades away. 

* * *

  
It started like this: 

Spock Grayson does not frequent bars often. 

The one time he chooses one on a recommendation from Nyota, James Tiberius Kirk is sliding in next to him and babbling what sounds like a knockoff of a Disney movie. That would surely get him sued and out of Spock’s way. 

He sighs in his seltzer water and pointedly does not turn. 

“...Annnnnd, wait, you’re doing it again!” Kirk says, at least a bit intoxicated. 

“And, what, pray tell, am I doing, Mr. Kirk?” Spock answers dryly, trying to focus on the stark black and white of the sheet music. Whoever decided a production of _Star Wars_ was a good idea for Broadway should be thrown out to the dogs. The lyricist is pushing some ridiculous line in the finale about how Darth Vader is a trash can and the director insists on someone shooting first in a particular scene. Spock has reworked at least three of the songs. The readings in DC were nothing short of a disaster and it’s a miracle they got to continue at all. 

“Y’know…” Kirk says, dragging the syllable and Spock turns, annoyed. Kirk stares back and then makes a vague hand-gesture. “Not listening. Filtering. Not, like, respecting my creativity.” 

Kirk is full of creativity, is what the critics say. They laud his unconventional metaphors and the way his lyrics can wrap around feeling like a blanket. They call him a budding Sondheim and say that Lin Manuel Miranda has competition. Spock doesn’t put much faith in sensational turns of phrase; critique is his yardstick. That’s how he made it to New York, made it to Juilliard, made it to Broadway with all the respect he needs, and the freedom to compose what he thinks is right. 

But _Star Wars_ as a musical was probably conceived on extreme inebriation on the director’s part. The story is a mess, some of the ensemble is whispering about how Lucasfilm is pulling funding and John Williams might sue them and stars, why did Spock agree to do this? 

“Ooooh,” Kirk says, peering at the top of his sheet music. He taps a finger against it. _A Bad Feeling About This._ “I’ve heard that’s a shitshow - uh. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Spock grits out. He stares over the sheet music, sighs, and files it in his bag. “What were you saying?” 

“Oh,” Kirk says, then leans back in his chair. His jawline is sharp, cutting through the ochre light of the bar like a sword. His blue eyes are bright. “Well, y’know, I had this idea, and it’s like… been bothering me for a while, right? Like, it might be good, but also might be bullshit so I figured, run it by someone first?”

Spock takes a moment to wonder how that someone ended up being him, of all people. It’s not like they’re unfamiliar with each other - they’ve got a mutual friend or two, attended the same awards ceremonies, and their names come up in the same circles. But it’s not as if Jim Kirk ever needed any validation to begin with. When people said he was just a pale imitation of his parents, Jim Kirk had made it his personal duty to prove them wrong. It had paid off, after all, and it isn’t like Spock knows this personally. It isn’t like he waited for tickets to _Enterprise_ for months, because obviously he wouldn’t. It’s illogical. It’s _emotional._ It’s ridiculous. 

“So, like,” Kirk says, after a long swig from his glass, and Spock realizes he might have been talking for a while. “I know people dig unhappy endings and fairytales and crap, I mean, that’s where _Into the Woods_ came from. Right? And people like seeing the villain’s point of view, too. But I thought, what if we flipped the switch, right? What if we take all these Cinderellas and Prince Charmings and Evil Queens out of the question and throw in someone else? Someone who never got to do it at all?”

“An audience surrogate?” Spock says, still not quite getting it, and Kirk huffs, throwing his head back. His skin is far too tanned for it being below zero in New York City. 

“Not - not exactly,” he says, wringing his hands. “I mean, yes, but no? I don’t know. I should be doing other shit right now instead of this.” 

“People have proposed stranger ideas,” Spock remarks. “You should get home, Kirk.”

“Yeah,” Kirk says, then rubs his head, sheepish, and runs a finger along the top of his glass. He suddenly looks very young, even being only twenty-four. “Good luck with, uh, _Star Wars._ Y’know? Can’t be worse than the prequels.”

“That is debatable,” Spock says, sudden and unthinking. Kirk’s eyes widen and his lips quirk in the beginnings of the grin that everyone is so starstruck by. “Good night, Kirk.” 

The workshop is worse than the reading, the previews are a disaster, and every time he and the lyricist are chewed out, Spock imagines burning all evidence of his involvement, sheet music and all. They are closed after a hoard of Star Wars fans started protesting with picket signs and cosplay and Spock only thinks about Jim Kirk at that bar. 

He thinks about the idea. A day after the last performance of _Star Wars_ ends, the theater half full, Spock spends the night scribbling furiously, the starts of melodies and songs and ballads. Maybe in the future, he will admit to thinking about how Jim Kirk’s eyes were so bright and almost beautiful - like how Kirk himself was a bit rough around the edges but still could be almost beautiful, but. But. 

But a week after _Star Wars closes_ with no hope of a national tour and definitely no future attempts, Spock Grayson ends up on the doorstep of James Tiberius Kirk’s sixth-floor apartment with a whole sheaf of sheet music. 

Kirk opens the door. He is tired, rubbing an eye, his blond hair in a million directions. "Spock? Wait, how'd you know where I live?”

Spock elects not to answer that question, and shoves the folder of sheet music that hasn't left him for weeks in Kirk’s arms. It's not perfect and needs a good polish and some decent orchestrations and a brilliant libretto to work, but -

“Your idea,” Spock starts, cautious. “I've made some - additions. I'd be willing to discuss it if you are willing.”

Kirk stares at him, then at the folder, then back at him. Spock half expects to start laughing or maybe slam the door in his face. But all he does is smile, a soft-edged thing, and lean against the doorjamb.

“I’m down,” he says. “But, holy shit Spock, I need coffee. Why do you look so good? Fucking six-thirty in the morning - you have no right.”

Spock rolls his eyes, pointedly does not answer the question and goes in. 

* * *

The middle went like this: 

In 2009, _Make It So_ premiered on Broadway. It was the first work of Kirk & Grayson. It shouldn’t have worked: Jim’s bursts of spontaneity, Spock’s beautiful, structured, music, but it did. Nyota Uhura wrote the libretto: years later, it is still remembered as one of her finest works. _Make It So_ won awards and the hearts of many. It had its criticisms: a little out-there, a little insane, a little unexpected, but Jim and Spock, they took it in stride. 

In 2006 and 2007 and 2008, this is what people don’t know happened:

Jim saw Spock’s not-there smiles and the barest hint of wrinkles around his dark eyes and thought: _fuck._

Spock read Jim’s work and looked at Jim, James Tiberius Kirk, who was a contradiction personified, with his sun-bright smile and his tangled insides, and thought: _no._

Nothing happened. They wonder, later, if that was the worst thing: nothing happened at all. 

Other things happen. They win awards for their work. They are fused - their names are one. Their reputations skyrocket and for a while, they are brilliant and beautiful and unafraid. 

But then:

“No way,” Jim says, fists clenched. “No _way,_ Spock, I am _not_ working with her, I don’t care if she’s the best, I don’t care -”

This has gone on for weeks. Spock and Jim have been ping-ponging back and forth and it’s coming to a head.

“Your unprofessionalism is causing us both to falter, _Kirk_ ,” Spock snipes back, crossing his arms. Jim flinches. His last name stings. “This may never happen again. You are aware of how good she is, aren’t you?”

And this is what people definitely don’t know:

James Tiberius Kirk plays the trumpet. He wanted to be a performer before he ever wanted to be a lyricist. He was good - great, maybe amazing at what he did. A quarter-way into his first year at college, he's found and invited to play in one of the best undergraduate ensembles around. Jim loved it, at first. He loved everyone there: Tom, Kevin, Ellie, Daniella, Penny, Henry, all of them. He loved to play. He loved to mess up and laugh it off. He loved to go off track. 

Then one day, a music stand is thrown at Kevin Riley’s head because he wasn't keeping up with the tempo. A week later, Ellie's in front of all of them, shaking and shaking and shaking, her eyes shiny, a red mark on her cheek. She's replaced. Jim is shaken once, twice, three times, hard. He's punched in the face at least once. He’s berated for not following anything right, for allowing rebellion to fester. But he’s too good, so he’s never allowed to leave. It escalates to an everyday occurrence and they tremble in their bones. 

But they are brilliant, all of them. There’s a reason Tarsus is legendary. 

And one day, Tom’s arm gets broken and Jim _snaps,_ screams, and storms out with Tom in tow. One by one, they all follow him. What else would they do? 

A year later, Jim's going to Berklee, they’re all going to different schools, and the Tarsus ensemble still exists. 

Someone eventually says something, and he gets fired, but it doesn't matter. It doesn’t matter because years later, Jim is pitted against his partner, held taut by his past. Because Lenore fucking Karidian wants to work with them, Kirk & Grayson, Jim and Spock, and Jim, for the life of him, _doesn’t know why -_

Does she know what her father did? 

And this, eventually, causes the impossibility of them to become real, because really; Jim and Spock weren’t meant to be anyway. The skeptics said it, years ago, and they both realize it years later. 

They start to fray and wither and break and then one day, they are over.   
  


* * *

The end could go like this:

Jim and Spock refuse to work with each other, point-blank. Nyota Uhura finds other people to score her idea and write the lyrics and it goes fine. The movie is lovely. Kirk & Grayson is a blip. People remember its five-year lifetime, but Jim and Spock never speak again. 

Or -

They attempt to work together, but it leads to a clash. Their arguments cover the personal and the professional and stretch far into the night. It leads to unfinished lyrics and overdue deadlines and a terrible production and eventually, one of them leaves anyway. The film still happens, the music is still amazing, but Jim and Spock never attempt collaborating after that. No one dares to put them together. 

Or -

They find their way to each other again. Jim and Spock have arguments, but they also spend soft nights in conversations. They talk about the unspoken. Jim talks about Tarsus. Spock talks about his mother. They flit around what could have been. 

It’s a process. Stitch and sew, knitting what mangled remains there are of what they were. They compose and write and sing and play music and Nyota Uhura gets her bucket-list script filmed and scored. They don't fit exactly right anymore, but that's alright. Fans cheer across the Internet when the soundtrack for _Boldly_ finally comes out. There are critics who send them flowers and it's not just for the attention _Boldly_ gets. They win an Oscar and Spock's voice never wavers when he accepts his statuette. But Jim might shed tears, and he says something like, "And finally, this is for Spock Grayson, who pushes me to the edge but always manages to catch me in the end." 

And one day, the _New York Times_ is proclaiming that Kirk & Grayson are coming back together, for good this time.

"In more ways than one," Jim whispers into Spock’s neck, and Spock kisses his smile into Jim’s mouth.


End file.
